


Let Go

by Sockaholic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (possibly), ABDL, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Age Play, Infantilism, Kink Negotiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sockaholic/pseuds/Sockaholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can tell Steve’s enjoying himself already, and it’s infectious. It makes it easier than Bucky would have thought to let go and be a good boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Go

He’s the one who brought it up, for crying out loud. Bucky falters, trying to remember the name. “Marie- Maria- no, it was…” He trails off, clenching his metal fist. He knows this. He does. He should. The right name is at the tip of his tongue, but it’s not coming - “I know this,” Bucky buries his face in his hands instead then. “I know this,” He repeats, tugging at his hair, “I do, I swear, it’s-”

“It’s okay if you don’t remember,” Steve suggests.

“No!” He brings the metal hand down onto the table in a fist. There’s a loud thump, cracks appearing on the wood. He has to remember this. Of all the things - of all the stupid things - he knows this!

“Bucky,”

He doesn’t look at Steve. Can’t quite bring himself to. He’s a fuckup. Truly and completely. His cheeks are hot and so are the tips of his ears. Bucky clenches his fist again and tries to block out the world. Today hasn’t been a great day - he’d forgotten the stupidest things earlier too, like the street they grew up on, his identification number - and it’s only getting worse. He wants to curl up in a ball and die.

“I should know this,” He says morosely, as if knowing he should makes anything better. His brain is a disaster, and Bucky is all too aware of that. Everyone is, really; he can’t even hide it when he’s falling apart these days.

Steve is silent. Perhaps he’s finally given up on trying and failing to make Bucky feel better about all the holes in his head. It’s not as refreshing as Bucky would have hoped. He grits his teeth in the long silence; it’s a bad habit, sure, but he can’t quite bring himself to care either.

“Hmm,” Steve murmurs to himself after too much time has passed, and then he gets up and leaves without another word. Bucky lets his head fall against the table and doesn’t look up to watch him go. He listens to the scrape of Steve’s chair against the floor and then the quiet, steady sound of his retreating footsteps, curls his arms around his face and tries not to think, wishing he could somehow will away the ache in his gut and the pounding in his head.

Eventually there’s nothing for it but to admit defeat and head back to his room. Without Steve around to mitigate any potential encounters with other people, Bucky has absolutely no desire to be caught in communal space. God forbid Tony or Clint wanders in and wants to chat - Bucky feels frazzled enough at the moment without having to deal with either of them and their larger-than-life personas.

He trudges down the hallway towards his room, still turning it over in his head. What was her name? It wasn’t Maria - it wasn’t - god, he should know this! It’s not even that big a deal, just some stupid little detail, but he can’t remember it - he can’t seem to remember anything.

In some part of him, Bucky knows it’s not worth getting worked up over, but he can’t quite help it either. It’s not rational that he’s having a mental breakdown over some stupid chick’s name, but that only makes it worse really. He almost doesn’t notice the fact that his comforter is slightly wrinkled - did he really leave it so far to the one side, and was that crease towards the foot really there this morning? He doesn’t know. He should, but he doesn’t, and he’s nearly in tears with frustration at that - but he does notice the unassuming little object laid out on his pillow.

Bucky swallows hard and draws closer to examine it, even though he already knows what it is. It’s a pacifier, and he has no doubt about who left it on his pillow, or why. He plucks it from the pillow with his metal hand, turning it over cautiously. His cheeks flush hot again; Bucky can feel the heat staining his skin. It was something they did during the war, and here is presumably a clear invitation to pick that up again like nothing’s changed. He already knows Steve will be in his room all night, waiting in case he decides to show up.

The nerves nearly choke him though. They haven’t done this in countless years. There was shame in it then, at least on his part - not during, but before and after - because Bucky has never been good at losing control gracefully. It’s a bitter pill of irony to swallow. But more importantly he’s embarrassed by how much he needs it. To be taken care of, to let go - anything to get out of his own head for a few hours. The release has never been more tempting... or more potentially humiliating.

During the war there was nothing to lose, and Bucky had been taking care of Steve for his whole life up to that point. He barely remembers those days now - Steve might, but Bucky has only dimly-lit flashbacks to go on and whatever stories Steve tells that don’t always connect the way Bucky knows they should. It means he’s at a disadvantage. Comparably, he’s got nothing to offer. Nothing except being dependent and helpless, and everything Bucky could never stand to be. He wants to be vulnerable again - wants to feel like he can be - but that’s just as raw as his barely-functioning brain and he doesn’t think he can take any more of the same.

He lowers himself onto the bed, and hates himself a little for putting the pacifier in his mouth. His gaze flicks over to the door to make sure it’s closed and locked behind him and that he’s still alone in the room before he can relax enough to even lie back. If anything, he should talk it out with Steve, but he doesn’t think he can. Bucky sucks hard on the rubber, running his tongue over the tip of it rhythmically. He can’t bring himself to say that he wants this. Steve must have known he’d need time.

The thought that Steve trusts him to figure this out on his own is oddly encouraging, but Bucky doesn’t think he has as much faith in himself as Steve does.

 

Of course, Cap always did believe the best in people. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t look nearly surprised enough when Bucky shows up at his door a few hours later. He’s twisting his fingers together, wringing his hands around their shared secret - the pacifier impossibly weighty in his sweaty grasp for just a bit of cheap plastic and rubber.

“I don’t know if I can do it.” He admits, looking anywhere that isn’t Steve. He wants to - badly - but Bucky knows better than to think his brain will cooperate. He’s sure he’s flushed again, hot under his collar and all across his cheeks. Bucky’s not sure he’ll ever be comfortable admitting how much he needs this either.

“Let me worry about that, Buck,” Steve says gently. “It’s my job to get you there if you want it.” He steps back to let Bucky in, and Bucky presses the pacifier back into Steve’s hands when he passes him in the doorway. It still feels like he’s too tightly wound up - even knowing what he came here for only seems to add to the shame, like maybe he’s well and truly fucked up if he thinks this is going to fix anything. Steve’s hand settles on his lower back, and Bucky forces himself to relax under the warm touch. “It doesn’t have to be any different from back then,” Steve tries to assure him, but what if it’s been too long? What if this just turns out to be a humiliating disaster? Re-negotiating something so… intimate… feels like a gigantic gamble of trust when Bucky hasn’t had that luxury in years.

He turns around and buries his face in the crook of Steve’s shoulder, breathing in the spicy, musky smell of shampoo and aftershave. It’s a holdover from the 40s - Bucky doesn’t know if that’s for his own benefit, or just something Steve liked enough to keep. Steve’s hand moves in circles against his back automatically, firm chest rising and falling gently against Bucky’s. It’s nice.

“I’m scared,” he confides into Steve’s neck before he can reconsider.

Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his arms tighten around Bucky, drawing him even closer if that’s possible. “Tell me why?”

He doesn’t presume to know, or to be owed an answer - something that makes Bucky feel more at ease than he thinks is really warranted, but at the same time, it’s so _Steve_. Reassuring, solid… non-judgemental. “I can’t let go. I can’t afford to need you more than I do already. I - you used to need me too.”

“I’ll always need you, Bucky.” He pulls back, and Bucky feels Steve’s fingers cup his jaw gently before Steve turns his head to make eye contact. “Maybe not exactly the same way I used to, but I swear, we’ll figure it out together. And I wouldn’t have brought this up unless I wanted it too,” Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but Steve cuts him off, “Besides,” He says, half-teasing, face splitting into a wry grin, “I miss my Buckybear.”

“The hell you do.” Bucky grumbles, but he can’t help smiling, tucking his head back against Steve’s broad chest. He’s almost certain he’s flushing yet again; but there's pleasure balancing the embarrassment this time. It’s too easy to fall into the familiar pattern, rubbing his cheek against the soft material of Steve’s shirt and clinging to his daddy. 

Something finally clicks into place and all of a sudden it feels like home. Bucky’s breath catches in his chest. “I trust you.” He exhales in surrender, scared and determined and eager all at once.

He could swear he feels Steve's smile. "If it's not happening, or you need to stop at any point, it's okay." Steve assures him, and Bucky can definitely hear it in his voice then.

"Baby steps?" He suggests, and actually manages to make Steve laugh. With that sound alone, warm and genuine and accompanied by the soft vibration of Steve's chest, all of his reservations melt.

"Baby steps." Steve agrees, holding out the pacifier for him. "I promise I'll take good care of you." Bucky parts his lips for it obediently and Steve guides it into his mouth, fingers stroking his cheeks gently and lingering for a moment. Bucky leans into the touch until daddy grasps his hand and guides him towards the bed. "Now come on, let's get you dressed."

Daddy sits him down, still smiling. Bucky can't resist - he leans forward and steals a kiss - just a quick peck, but it sets his stomach fluttering excitedly. He can't help it when Steve looks at him like that.

"Kick your feet up, silly boy." He doesn't chastise Bucky, but daddy does grab his ankle and pull his leg up onto the bed. Bucky lifts the other one himself and falls back against the bed, trying not to giggle. He can tell Steve’s enjoying himself already, and it’s infectious. It makes it easier than Bucky would have thought to just let go and be a good boy.

Steve walks his fingers up Bucky’s thighs and he squirms, biting down on the pacifier in his mouth - it tickles! He assumes daddy’s going to undress him, but Steve passes the waistband of his pants by, continuing up onto his belly and tickling him until there are tears in his eyes and Bucky’s gasping for breath around his laughter.

The pacifier ends up on the comforter at some point, and Bucky can feel the wet rubber against his neck when daddy gives him a moment to catch his breath. Daddy picks it up and brushes it off before holding it out to him again, his eyes crinkling at the corners while he smiles. Bucky sucks it back into his mouth gratefully. He likes the paci.

Daddy’s big hands smooth his shirt back down. They’re warm against his tummy, testing the waistband of his pants, and then daddy’s unbuttoning them and tugging them down. Bucky lifts his hips up without having to be told. He wants to be good. The air is cold against his skin though, and for a split second, Bucky is utterly aware of how exposed he is. He sucks hard on the pacifier, and something must show on his face because Steve pauses. “Is this okay, baby?”

Bucky nods mutely. He doesn’t want to stop. And this isn’t anything Steve hasn’t seen hundreds of times before… Steve’s hand settles over one of his thighs, squeezing gently. Strangely enough, it relaxes him, and the heat of daddy’s skin takes the sting out of the cool air. Bucky closes his eyes and stretches his arms over his head with a little squeak. Daddy’s going to make sure he’s all soft and warm in a minute; he can be a good boy.

“Lift up, Buckybear,” daddy says, his fingers brushing over Bucky’s hip. He startles a little bit at the gentle touch, his eyes flickering open to meet daddy’s before he does what he’s told. He pushes his hips up again and daddy slides a diaper under him, fastening it up nice and quick. It’s all cushy, thick padding hugging his body. Bucky makes a happy sound at the feeling, and daddy rewards him with another little tickle on his belly before he helps Bucky into a new pair of pants too.

“C’mere you,” daddy scoops him up easily when they’re finished getting dressed. He tugs Bucky in close to his chest and wraps his big, strong arms back around him. “You’re such a good boy,” He presses kisses to Bucky’s forehead and his hair, and Bucky smiles around the paci, tucking his head back against daddy’s chest. “Has daddy ever told you how much he loves you?”

He giggles, because daddy has always told Bucky just that, and he knows what’s coming.


End file.
